


A(romantic) Chemistry

by westwoodandridingcrops



Series: Arguments in the Alternative (Sheriarty AUs) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternative Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Crossover, M/M, Potterlock, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4454753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwoodandridingcrops/pseuds/westwoodandridingcrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Could it get any worse? The new schedules passed around at breakfast had made it quite clear. Ravenclaws would not take their potions lessons with the Gryffindor. Sherlock already missed John’s familiarity, grumbling away as he cut their shrivelfigs to Sherlock’s specifications. John had hated potions, and so he and Sherlock had performed a trade. Sherlock did all the tricky work to make sure they got top marks and John did all the tedious things that made it all possible.</p>
<p>Now he’d have to find another one to train up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A(romantic) Chemistry

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr.](http://westwood-and-ridingcrops.tumblr.com/)
> 
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> 
> Got an AU? [Prompt us!](http://westwood-and-ridingcrops.tumblr.com/ask)

Sherlock still couldn’t understand what horrid quirk of fate had changed their class schedule this year. They were down in the mildewed damp of the dungeons for double potions. It was easily his favorite class. Professor Slughorn was obnoxious, but ultimately harmless, letting Sherlock come in at odd hours of the night and experiment as he would.

But now, all that was ruined. Slytherin. Could it get any worse? The new schedules passed around at breakfast had made it quite clear. Ravenclaws would not take their potions lessons with the Gryffindor. Sherlock already missed John’s familiarity, grumbling away as he cut their shrivelfigs to Sherlock’s specifications. John had hated potions, and so he and Sherlock had performed a trade. Sherlock did all the tricky work to make sure they got top marks and John did all the tedious things that made it all possible.

Now he’d have to find another one to train up.

“Alright. Now let’s get you lot paired off,” Professor Slughorn said, affably.

“Donovan, you’ll be with Anderson from now on.”

“Adler working with, ah, yes, Ms. Hooper.” Molly blushed a crimson while Irene looked like a panther on the prowl.

“Holmes, with Moriarty.”

Oh, of all the fucking luck. Apparently, it could get worse. He glanced over in Jim’s direction through his eyelashes only to find the boy staring at him unabashedly, his eyebrow raised in an all too familiar arch.

Jim Moriarty hated him. He was brilliant, almost as brilliant as Sherlock ( _almost_ , Sherlock sniffed to himself). Their fights were legendary among the students, insults and jabs flung at a moment’s notice until wands were drawn and someone pulled them back.  No doubt, Jim was still angry at Sherlock for that whole Carl Powers business from last year. It was just another mark against an already bad day.

Professor Slughorn had apparently finished setting lab groups, and set them to their next potion.

“Amortentia. Dangerous stuff. Typically, I only teach it to N.E.W.T. students, but let’s give it a go, shall we? See how you settle in with your new partner.”  

They’d all shuffled, and two minutes later, Sherlock found himself at a table with Jim, knocking elbows while crushing their moonstones.

Jim shot Sherlock an exasperated look when Sherlock reached for the rose thorns and knocked the pestle from Jim’s hand.

“Well, you’re a graceful one,” Jim murmured.

“It’s not my fault you’re left handed,” Sherlock snapped.

“Gentlemen…” Professor Slughorn’s voice was full of gentle disapproval.

They worked in relative silence, afterwards, Sherlock cursing his luck and his partner in equal measure. It would have been easier if Jim wasn’t so damn  _good_ at this. Unhappy to play assistant, he helped add things, counting stirs and counter-stirs in the convoluted pattern required to turn the potion its iridescent sheen. Carefully, Sherlock tipped in the ashwinder eggs and steam began to spiral from the smooth, opalescent surface of the potion.

Sherlock leaned forward, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

“Christ, Holmes. You’re an idiot. You’ve no idea if we’ve done it right. You could scorch out your nose,” Jim scolded, sounding more like John by the minute.

Nothing. He smelled nothing at all save the familiar scents of the potions laboratory and Jim’s cologne. He’d started wearing it fourth year, and now Sherlock couldn’t whiff sandalwood without feeling his hackles rise, ready for a fight. When did it become so overwhelmingly pungent?

“Clearly, we’ve not done it right at all, idiot. That, or I can’t smell it over the reek of your cologne.”

Donovan and Anderson were at the table in front of them. They paused, looked at one another, and started cackling, their shoulders shaking. What the hell was so funny?

Jim, meanwhile had ceased movement all together, looking at Sherlock like he was still trying to suss him out. Hardly surprising. James Moriarty had been looking at him like he was a riddle as long as he’d known him. And still, something was different. His voice, when he spoke again, was whisper soft, and Sherlock realized for the first time how soothing that Dublin drawl could be.

“Sherlock, I’ve not worn that cologne all summer. I don’t wear it anymore.”

_Oh._


End file.
